


Running in the Wind

by Jenry_Morgan



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Fic Exchange, Friendship, Gen, Henry's 237th Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenry_Morgan/pseuds/Jenry_Morgan
Summary: "We mark everything with time-memories, occasions, our days and years, but by my experience, time is the very one thing that can truly sometimes be endless; because when we are standing in the moments we most love, we're far from counting." ~Henry Morgan





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superlc529](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superlc529/gifts).



> This is a gift for the lovely superlc529, who requested some bonding time with the ever entertaining duo that is, Henry & Hanson. This was great fun to write and gave me all these friendship feels that I still can't shake. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this little fic in celebration of Henry's big day! :) 
> 
> ~~Happy 237th Birthday Henry Morgan!~~

617 degrees Celsius.

I eyed the torched fabric through the magnifier in my hand. The edges of the wool had curled uniquely away from the flame and turned a dark, crispy brown in a stark contrast to the usual soft cream color. Noting the resistant fabric's slow combustion, I dropped it from the steel grip of the tweezers onto a glass plate and jotted down my result in a notebook. The shadows of passing cars and pedestrians outside the antique's shop were the only accompaniment to my silent, meticulous evening occupation and attempted distraction to Abraham's whereabouts. His late night at an estate auction became more and more concerning when his delayed return could only indicate the accumulation of someone else's possessions which he had now, for a high sum of money, himself inherited. If we were to survive in this business, he always took time to note, we had to inhabit in its treasure. I questioned how many more old relics we could cram in before the antique's shop was forced to shut its door for safety violations.

There was a loud rap on the rim of the front glass door and I raised my head from the magnifier with wonder if Abraham had forgotten his keys. He'd be furious that I was concocting an experiment on his work desk in the middle of the store, but occasionally I found the stone basement walls of my laboratory confining to my theories and so, welcomed the change of scenery of the antique's shop floor. When with surprise, I noticed another familiar face waiting outside, I made my way through the room and unlatched the door with a curious smile. 

"Detective Hanson, what a pleasant surprise." The tall gentleman stood on the pavement in his rain coat and raised his brows when he saw me approach. It had rained earlier in the evening and a few stray drops still falling from the overhanging roof by the door dripped onto his dark hair. He combed over it with his hand. 

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Doc," the Detective said without greeting. "I was coming through the neighbourhood on my way home and thought I'd drop these off to you." Hanson held out a box of maps judging precise drops and rises of altitude in the Appalachian mountains. "They were, uh very helpful for the weekend family hike."

I prided myself in the apparent ignorance of Hanson's lies. From the crisp folded lines of the maps, I could easily see they had not once been relied upon. 

"What are you doing?" Detective Hanson abruptly asked, taking sudden notice of the burning flame behind me, cresting out of the silver bowl on Abe's desk. Hanson rather have avoided an answer to my experimentation, but the open fire made him speak without further consideration as to whether inquiring about my ever odd pursuits was a good idea.

"A forensics evaluation. It's quite fascinating." I replied vaguely. "Hanson, would you like to come in for a drink?" The man heaved silently, but accepted my offer with the hope that perhaps a glassful of whiskey would help him better unwind in my presence. I stepped aside for him to pass and let the door close shut. Hanson had scrunched his nose from the smell of burnt wool as he slowly sauntered through the room, eyes scattering on the many peculiarities of the last century around him. "I'm studying the ignition temperature of rare fabrics." I quickly extinguished his thin hope for a relaxing drink. "One of these wools is so sought after, that once no one but royalty was allowed to wear the fabric."

"What the world doesn't know," Hanson groaned, turning around a table and eying the tall flame again with unsettlement. "What'd you do? Strip it off the Queen's back."

I blew out the fire without a response to his question, his sarcasm a poor wish for entertainment. The plume of grey smoke twisted towards the ceiling until the air in the room consumed it. Jarring open a wooden cupboard, I produced a bottle of scotch and a set of glasses. Hanson anticipated his drink with such desire that I wondered how many he'd need to rely on to restrain his concern for my outlandish, time consuming inventions. Nodding my poured glass at him, I watched him take a large swig of scotch and blink slowly. 

"So this is where you live," Hanson mused. 

"Yes," I smiled, eyes falling over the familiar things Abe and I had collected through the years. 

"I just don't get it, Henry," the Detective said casually looking over the old, tarnished items lined on bookshelves and sitting on the floor. "How a guy who spends his entire day opening up and studying dead people comes home and spends time with more," Hanson picked up an oriental doll sat among a stack of books, "dead things." The doll's porcelain head was too heavy for her frail, cloth body and fell forward into the green, silk dress she'd only ever worn. When Hanson set her down beside an early edition copy of Rudyard Kipling's, _The Jungle Book_ , she slumped back over in a hopeless position, unlikely to be touched again for some time.

"They have as much of a story as we do," I replied simply. "A history that goes back further than many of us have been alive. They were gifts, heirlooms, odd finds. Their past is just as interesting to unravel as a body's." 

"C'mon, Doc," Hanson said, still baffled by my attachment to forgotten things. He bent over beside a dark, polished bureau and reached for something he'd noticed had fallen underneath. "A tangled up, what is this even?" Hanson retrieved the dusty item from the floor. The faded fabric wrapped around narrow wooden rods and a long string was crisscrossed in a knot to keep it from opening apart. 

"A kite," I remarked, my attention to the item sparked by a vivid recollection at the sight of it. I thought Abe had long thrown it out after it failed to succeed in interesting a single customer in years. The shape was torn and it had been decades since it had skimmed the sky. "I knew the boy who owned it," I mused as Hanson turned it over in his hands and attempted to unravel the string. "It was a gift to him. He used to take out every day after school and watch it fly against the line of city building." 

"Funny, cause I swear I had a kite just like this," Hanson said, his eyes looking over the colours with a different reaction now. "With a younger brother, I can't say mine would have been so lucky to have made it this long in any state. We used to fly it along the Hudson in Jersey when we stayed at my grandparents. Gee, what a long time ago that was. I'll have to ask my brother, Tony if he remembers..." Hanson went quiet when he looked up to see the contented smile playing on my face. "I guess I forgot, huh," he ceded, not imagining until these last moments that anything in the antique's shop could trigger such a strong recollection. Determined not to let me see his turn of emotion, he sharply placed the battered kite down on a table and finished his scotch in another quick gulp. "Thanks for the drink, Doc," Hanson said, with a nod. Before I could speak, he fixed his coat over his shoulders and headed for the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Detective," I waved with a raise of my arm. "If you'd like to buy anything, my flatmate would be more than happy to offer you his expertise." 

"Yeah," Hanson said as the door closed behind him. "Tell him to save me that vase in the window for Karen's anniversary gift."

With a laugh, I picked up the delicate kite from the table, tugging the tight end of the string, and ran my fingers over the sun-faded fabric along its tired wing.

The sky that day had never been so blue.

XXXXX

_New York City-1957_

"Mom! Dad! I did it!" Abraham spun around excitedly from the rainbow-striped prize booth when the last of the round hoops in his hand rattled around a wooden peg on the table before him.

The carnival in the East park was a success of sweet delights and jubilant melodies drifting among tents and entertainers. Excited children ran through the crowd of smiling, strolling people, cotton candy in one hand, and waving tickets for rides and games in the other. It was a thrill to the eyes. Bursts of vivid colours splashed on every poster, decorated painted carousel horses, and even blotted the sky with an occasional pop of red or orange from a runaway balloon.

Abigail clapped together her hands with congratulation for our son. "Well done, Abe!"

"Yes, well done young man!" the ring toss booth owner echoed our cheer. "Now what would you like, kiddo?" He stepped aside not to block any of the winner's picks behind him and Abe leaned over the game table rim, eyes intently studying the array of toys that stood against the bright, booth backdrop. "Is there anything you see?" he prodded when Abe gave a contemplating look. "What's your very favourite thing?"

Abe didn't spend much time thinking. "I like planes. I want to be a pilot." I could prove testament to that; every piece of newspaper at home had been folded into a winged propeller and Abe tirelessly launched them around his room. I'd bought him a small, model war jet as a birthday gift and we'd spent days gluing every piece just right.

The booth owner glanced at the toys behind his back. "Well, I don't have any air planes. They don't pack well you see," he joked and Abe broke a smile, "but I think I have just the prize for you." The man waved his finger with assurance and disappeared into his hitched trailer for a moment before returning with a long folded package, holding something inside. He pointed at the blue, cloudless sky. "If you hold on to it tight, you can steer it wherever you'd like."

"A kite?" Abe asked with intrigue, guessing what it could be. He wanted to pry the package open and try it, but the man urged him to wait.

"Don't open it until you have enough sky to fly it free." He glanced at Abigail and I with a mysterious tip of his head, before returning his attention back to a hopeful Abraham. "I promise you, when this one flies, you'll be able to see the stars."

XXXXX

There was little to be done when there was nothing to do. Not one person had agreed to die today and I was forced to resign myself to the distinct task of paperwork, pages filled with empty, official looking words to seal the final resting of those who rolled in through the morgue doors. Sitting in my office, I felt like the Chinese doll back at the antique's shop, heavy head nodding forward to my chest. Dozing on my birthday, I was proof to myself how uneventful and customary this faithful reminder of my immortality had become. Lucas had baked me a cake, rather he had attempted to, but after great unsuccess, succumbed to Jo's help and a cake from the best bakery they could find in midtown Manhattan. He hadn't known how many candles to put on top, so he settled on a pair of two; a considerably accurate amount if one only added another thirty seven years to the number of centuries I'd been alive. It was both invigorating and disheartening to see so few candles lit on a cake, marking seemingly the end of another year, but also the beginning of another eternity. The alerting ring of the phone on my desk startled me awake and I reached for it with a stiff hand.

"Henry, I need you at the park right now." Abe's voice resonated on the other end of the line. "I'm with the police."

"Abraham, what's wrong?" I said with urgent concern, already rising from my heavy, wood chair and abandoning my lab coat on its back. "Where are you?" I asked when Abe failed to provide me with any details as he hung on the phone distractedly. "Which park, Abe? There are hundreds in this city."

"Oh right, uh, Central Park, near the corner at Columbus Circle. Just come here would you." Abe's voice was filled with more irritation than concern, but I disregarded his apparent desire of concealment to be treated with nothing more than urgency.

"Wait right there, Abe, and don't let the police leave you." I clanked the phone back down on the desk and grabbing my coat from the hook beside the office door, strode firmly past the examining tables and an idle Lucas, fiddling with a set of pincers and somebody's lower mandible.

 

Traffic was not to be beaten and the jostling taxi ride across Manhattan briefly left me wondering whether I would in fact survive my birthday this year. When the cab inched at last to a stop near Central Park, I rushed into the street and hurried down the wide path into the park, my eyes scanning frantically for any sign of Abe. The trees rustled loudly in the strong breeze and bowed aside to reveal the sunlit sky. It was a perfectly serene afternoon at the park, far from the tense police scene Abe had eluded to over the phone. Still, anxious to find him and make sure he was alright, I walked on until, glancing up at the clearing between the trees, I stopped short on the lawn. 

Hovering like an aiming bird in the sky, a bright yellow, sun filled kite pulled at its strings, reaching into the blue vastness around it. Billowing into a perfect circle, it danced in a pattern of cut out stars, flickering with rays of light over the park.

"Hey, there you are!" I heard Abraham's voice growing nearer, while my eyes stayed firm on the flying kite. "Who would've thought she'd clean up so nicely?" Abe chuckled at my side and admired my surprise. "A little glue, a little love, and up she goes!" 

"Well, Doc," Hanson said with a huff running over from the field, where he'd been helping steady the star-filled sphere in the wind. "You won me over. I thought I'd give this thing another shot in the air." He gestured at the two boys holding it taught by the handle. "The kids love it." 

"Hanson! How did you manage?" I asked in astonishment. 

Hanson shrugged his shoulders. "Took your advice, Doc. I swung by the antique's store and asked if the owner had any kites. Guess I was in luck!" He smiled with pride. "Oh, and sorry I missed the cake this morning. Jo told me Lucas came in with a real standout." Hanson patted me on the shoulder. "Happy Birthday, Doc." 

"Thank you, and yes, he and Jo did their best at surprising me," I replied. "Though this," I thew my head back at the sky in marvel, "Is perhaps the greatest surprise." 

"You think that kid'd be proud?" Hanson smirked, thinking as he watched his own boys now toy with the shimmering kite. "Who knows, maybe he's an old guy now, taking a walk through good ole' New York and looking up wondering if that could be the very same one flying again." 

I chuckled, glancing at Abraham before my attention was captured again by the sailing kite up in the sky. "Maybe," I grinned, suddenly overcome with happiness. "Maybe he's closer than you think."


End file.
